


Protection of a Snake

by inkandpencil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fire, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Knight in Dark Armor Crowley, M/M, Nightmares Come To Life, Post-Armageddon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpencil/pseuds/inkandpencil
Summary: Crowley experiences a feeling he's experienced more than a few times in his roughly 6000 years on this Earth. Each and every time, his angel had been in trouble. Even though he made a promise to Aziraphale to stay for a surprise he had for the demon, Crowley isn't in the habit of ignoring this feeling. This turns out to be a very good thing.--Inspired by artwork by the wonderful WhiteleyFoster!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 121





	Protection of a Snake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



Something wasn't right. He paced their small set of rooms, full of an energy that simply wouldn't leave him alone. It was accompanied by a feeling he'd experienced more than a few times in his roughly 6000 years on this Earth. Each and every time, his angel had been in trouble. In _danger._ But Crowley had promised to wait for Aziraphale; the angel had said he had a surprise for the demon and had asked him to stay here.

When Crowley realized he was about to punch the wall just to release some of the energy building to a frenzy within him, he took himself out of the rooms. He had promised, this is true, but he had a much older promise - to himself, if to no one else - to keep. He wasn't in the habit of ignoring these feelings. And the one time he'd been forced to do so, Aziraphale had been discorporated and his bookshop had burnt to the ground.

Fire.

The sudden mental image of Aziraphale in fire flashed through the demon's mind. In less time than a human heartbeat, Crowley was running, following the feeling. Getting a stitch in his side stopped him short after several blocks and he forced himself to focus on the source of the feeling, on his angel. Once he found it, he grabbed hold of it mentally and snapped his fingers, miracling himself right into the middle of an inferno. For a heart stopping moment, he was living his worst nightmare. Frantically looking around, he spotted Aziraphale laying on the floor and apparently unconscious. He had soot marks on him, as though he'd been trying desperately to help fight the fire or rescue people. But he also had bloodstains on him. As Crowley got closer, fighting through the flames to reach the angel's side, he saw blood in the white curls.

Rage burned through him at the thought of someone attacking Aziraphale while he worked to do good. There were only a small handful of names on a very short list of who might be willing to do this.

The groan of weakening timbers pulled Crowley's attention to the ceiling above Aziraphale - it looked like it was about to collapse. As it started cracking, he threw himself protectively over the angel's back, expending a little more energy than normal to not have to snap for a miracle. They landed on the cobblestone street just outside and the demon realized the entire area was aflame. Then he sensed the presence of another angel.

"Well," came a smooth and rather arrogant-sounding voice. "This wasn't in the plan." Crowley glared up at the Archangel, taking in the pristine lilac suit and the wrath burning in those lavender eyes. "The traitor was supposed to perish in the flames. Still, I suppose there's a reason the humans have the saying 'If you want something done right, do it yourself.' I guess it can't be helped."

"I won't let you lay a _finger_ on my angel!" Crowley growled. Gabriel laughed mirthlessly as he approached. He was arrogant and cocksure, the demon realized. He could use those things, along with the wrath burning within the Archangel, to his advantage. But he would hold to his word; the Archangel Gabriel wasn't going to even _touch_ Aziraphale.

"You won't stop me. You _can't_ stop me, Demon." The venom in the Archangel's tone fueled Crowley's defensive anger. He waited where he was, still crouched over his angel's unconscious form, as Gabriel moved closer. Just because he was angry, it didn't mean he was reckless, after all. Especially when it was Aziraphale's safety and life on the line. He heard the soft groan from beneath him, but he didn't even glance down. Only a fraction of his attention was on his angel, most was on the Archangel who was threatening Aziraphale's life.

Once Gabriel was within reach and was drawing his weapon, Crowley exploded into movement. Because he was coming from below, he was inside the Archangel's arms before Gabriel even knew what was going on. The Archangel had no time to react as Crowley's fist connected with his chin, snapping his head back with the force. Gabriel dropped the blade in his surprise, staggering back several steps in the process. The demon didn't give him a chance to recover.

Crowley had, on more than one occasion when he couldn't talk his way out of it, engaged in fisticuffs with other demons. It had, at one point, been the best way to assert one's demonly worth and to climb up the chain, if one could. He'd been content with his spot, but sometimes one of the lesser demons thought his spot was up for grabs. Or one of the higher demons felt threatened by him, even though he had no designs on their place. So he was no stranger to using his fists. It wasn't usually his first preference, but for the Archangel Gabriel, he was more than happy to make the exception.

His fists flew as he followed the surprised Archangel, connecting with his solar plexus and knocking the air from him, then coming around to connect with Gabriel's cheek and nose. Crowley didn't let up and didn't stop, knowing if he did that the Archangel could recover and retaliate. 

After what felt like half an hour but was actually only a scant few minutes, Crowley threw a punch that knocked Gabriel onto his back. The Archangel, face an absolute bloody mess complete with split lip, broken nose, and black eye, looked disbelievingly up at the demon above him. 

"I meant it." Crowley's voice was more threatening than he'd ever heard himself. "I won't let you lay a _finger_ on Aziraphale. If you, or any of the other angels or Archangels, _ever_ come to threaten him again, I will tear the very foundations of Heaven down." He took a step closer to the Archangel, who attempted to scuttle backwards but failed to do so. "Have I made myself _clear_ , Gabriel?" The beaten angel nodded, his one good eye - the one that wasn't swelling shut - staring up at the demon, pupil blown wide. "Good. Now go, before I change my mind."

In seconds, the Archangel Gabriel had disappeared. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale and rushed to his angel's side. Blue eyes, hazy with pain, blinked at him. He gave the angel a soft smile, reaching out to gently smooth over those blonde curls.

"Hey," he said softly, conscious of any potential concussions the angel might be suffering from. "You okay enough for me to move you?" His answer was a slow closing of those eyes and a careful nod. As gently as he could, he helped the angel shift into a sitting position. "Look at me?" he requested, once the angel was sitting in the street. Crowley could hear sirens in the distance and knew time was running out, but he needed Aziraphale's attention before he did anything. The angel opened his eyes and looked unflinchingly into Crowley's own. The demon reached out, running his fingertips lightly over his angel's forehead, over his temple, and down to cup his cheek, miracling away any damage that had been done. He was rewarded with a soft sigh of relief. 

Taking Aziraphale's arm and looping it over his shoulders, Crowley carefully helped the angel stand. Once they were on their feet, the demon chanced one more miracle, transporting them both into the backroom of the bookshop. 

"My dear," the angel began, only to pause as he was deposited gently onto the couch. "What happened? Did you really get into a fist fight with Gabriel? Or was that a conjuration of my addled mind?" The demon knelt before him, carefully looking him over for any additional injuries he might have otherwise missed while simultaneously selecting his words.

"He was out to harm you, angel," Crowley said softly. Blue eyes widened at the implications in his words.

"Gabriel started the fire," the angel breathed, piecing things together. His clever angel. Satisfied there was no additional injuries that were serious, Crowley shrugged as he began to heal the lesser injuries the angel had acquired.

"I wouldn't be surprised. He implied that you were supposed to die in that fire before drawing his weapon." He felt the smile being directed at him, even through his attention was on the scratches and the soot on the angel's hands.

"And then you surprised him with your fists." Aziraphale's hands turned in his and Crowley found himself clinging to those strong, gentle hands, looking up into those blue eyes he loved so much. " _Thank you_ , my dear. Thank you so very much."

He wanted to wave it away, the thanks, but found he couldn't. Not this time. Not when it was said so exceptionally sincerely and backed by the force of all that love directed at him. At _him!_ An unforgivable demon! Swallowing hard and feeling pinned where he knelt before his angel, he nodded.

"Couldn't lose you again," he whispered, not realizing he'd actually said it until he heard himself. Aziraphale gave him a small smile, letting go of one of his hands to cup his cheek.

"We'll both of us make sure of that," the angel promised.


End file.
